Crush'd
by TheeMizKitty
Summary: It was just a crush, they were both sure, and it would go away in time...right? H/D


Crush'd

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and related characters!

A/N: This story, believe it or not, started out small and somehow grew into…this. I just couldn't seem to stop writing it, even though it took me forever to do. More than once I wanted to abandon it but…well, I had already gotten the idea so why not? Besides, it kept my life busy! I hope you enjoy it, even though it's so fluffy that I feel like I was almost choking on it when I wrote it!

_Lyrics: Crush'd by Say Anything_.

_--_

_I have a total crush on you, baby,  
and I can't let it go, oh no.  
I have a total crush on you, baby.  
Baby, if only I could let you know._

--

If he was ever being honest with himself, Draco Malfoy could say that he was not exactly thrilled with his future plans. The plans were certainly simple enough, marked on an old piece of parchment on his desk in his private rooms. The list had only two things on it, both of which he knew by heart—

Become badass Death Eater

Marry Pureblood and make babies aka _heirs_

It had to be simple. At least, it sounded simple. All he really had to do was get a tattoo from a hairless freak, wear black robes and marry-to-knock-up his friend and housemate Pansy Parkinson. It should have been simple, really.

But if it was, why did he find himself having trouble with it?

It was asinine to think that he didn't want to be a Death Eater because it was 'the right thing to do.' The day Draco Malfoy did the right thing would be the day that the world decided to stop on its axis. No, Draco loved being evil, and it was hard to get much eviler then being a Death Eater. And the job was easy enough, or was that the problem? Death Eaters were supposed to go around threatening everyday and destroying; isn't that what Draco already mainly did at Hogwarts? He was the villain, and he knew it only too well from the looks the other houses gave him, especially the Gryffindors.

Especially ickle Potter.

Potter and his stupid magnified green eyes, the same color as the killing curse, the same shade of the deepest emerald, the perfect Slytherin color. Potter and his dark, crow's nest hair, nothing but a giant tangle, so appalling that it almost manages to look fashionable. Potter and his hard, perfect, Quidditch honed body and ability to look good in anything…

Oh yes it always came down to Potter, the hero to his villain, the rival to his actions and ambitions. Everything in Draco's life always seemed to lead back to the Golden Boy, including, Draco knew, those two plans he had for a future.

As to how he related…Well, Draco had yet to figure that detail out, and with the end of 7th year approaching—and the night that he had to receive the dark mark—Draco knew that he had to figure it out soon.

He would be damned if he allowed himself to ever think back to Harry Potter once he was free from Hogwarts.

Determined, Draco turned to the only girl he knew—who incidentally would have to be his likely future bride—for help.

"Pans, you know how Potter is my nemesis, right?" he began one evening when they were sitting together in front of the fire in the nearly deserted common room. Pansy only gave him a dull look in return.

"Draco dear, I'm not blind; it's pretty damn obvious you're enemies."

"Right," he nodded, "Of course it is."

Because it was, even if lately he found himself tongue tied and blank on insults around the idiot-who-lived. And how could Draco be a good Death Eater if he couldn't even rile up Potter?

"I need a plan to attack Potter one last time before graduation," he said, "Maybe I'll challenge him to a wizard's duel."

He chose to ignore the way Pansy rolled her eyes at him. "Oh Draco dear, you'll never learn, will you?" Pansy sighed in mock sadness. "Potter is the hero and no one can beat the hero, especially not his school rival. Potter has too much power and skill—rumors going around that he trains with Dumbledore. Do you honestly think you can beat that?"

Draco did not even have to think about his answer. "Yes, I do. Potter might have power but you forget that I have wit. Do you really doubt me Parkinson?" He shot her a dark look that she simply raised her eyebrow at. So much for an obedient wife…

"Not doubting you, Draco dear, just…warning you."

"I can handle myself around Potter," he sneered, "I've always been able too."

He just would try to forget all the times Potter had embarrassed him and had the last laugh which was, really, all the times. But this had to be different; something about it, about this upcoming confrontation with Potter, sent Draco's heart racing in a way that he had never felt before.

Excitement, he told himself as turned his eyes to the fire in the large hearth, watching it consume all the wood greedily. It was all just excitement for the duel, to beat Potter, to see Potter…

Draco Malfoy really needed to add a third thing to his list of future plans—

Get past denial and realize the truth—

Draco Malfoy had the biggest crush on his rival, and it was not going away anytime soon.

--

Lately all Malfoy seemed to be doing to Harry was stare at him. It was not exactly uncommon to see those silver eyes on him—Harry had been at the end of the glares those eyes shot off for years now. But this look that Malfoy had recently been giving him was not the typical death glare.

As Harry watched from the corner of his eye in Potions one afternoon he saw Malfoy looking at him with those bright eyes that had held the strangest light. It had not been the usual malevolent spark that Harry had grown to spot and hate, but rather almost like a curious light, as though Malfoy was trying to figure something out.

But what was there to figure out?

Harry was always looking for some reason to stalk Malfoy, to spy on him, to try to get inside of his mind—in one of those curious looks thrown his way, Harry decided then and there that Malfoy was up to something, and he had to figure out.

He just had to.

And of course there could never be any underlying reasons for why he always was so determined to stalk Malfoy. No, Harry was a simple boy, or so he thought, and underlying reasons and motives were too Slytherin for him—so he thought.

But of course, Harry often thought wrong, as can be seen in many cases, and was well…not slow witted but extremely thick headed.

Too thick headed to notice, for example, that he was looking back at Malfoy with the same expression the blonde was now giving him; too thick headed to notice that whenever those silver eyes landed on him, whenever he could smell the traces of Malfoy's rich cologne on the air, Harry's heart never failed to start skipping beats.

But of course, that could just be because he hated Malfoy so much; a fluttering heartbeat and a dry mouth could all mean hate….

…right?

Harry wanted sometimes to just ask Hermione, who surely could easily assure him that all he felt for Malfoy was hate—it could never be anything else, after all, and he was sure that even the brightest witch could see that.

…right?

The odd thing was though, whenever Harry went to ask Hermione for her agreement and opinion he ended up just freezing up. Tongue tied, all the bravery that made him the true Gryffindor he was ended up just deserting him, leaving him with a confused Hermione and a jumbled up brain.

He just…could not get the words out, even when Hermione tried to guess what it was; he could not say them.

It never occurred to Harry that maybe he just didn't want to hear the truth.

--  
When you liked someone, even if they were your school rival, you went out of your way to see that person, to interact with them. At first all Draco did was stalk Potter. Well, not exactly _stalk_, because that was too crude of a world for his sensibilities, but rather keep an eye on Potter. After all, he could be planning something against Draco…

Or at least, that was Draco's excuse, the one he used on all his friends. Only Pansy, the smart bitch, seemed to realize the truth behind Draco's recent interest in Potter and everything that he involved.

"You could just go and try to have a normal non-argumentative conversation with him you know," she told him one day in the Great Hall when they were eating breakfast, the others too preoccupied with Blaise's story to hear her. Good thing they weren't looking either, as Draco promptly turned a rather fetching shade of pink.

"With whom?" he calmly replied as he scooped some more oatmeal into his mouth, hoping the Malfoy nonchalance would get her off his case. However, he'd forgotten that she was his best friend, who knew him better than anybody. And, of course, his face just had to be pink still.

"Don't make me say his name," Pansy replied with great amusement, "we both know who I'm talking about. Really, you think I'm dumb Draco? Your subtly skills have always been rather lacking, I must say, but really…you'd have to be blind not to see the way you look at Potter."

Frantic Draco slammed his spoon down and turned to her, eyes narrowed. "Don't say his name!" he hissed, glaring as she smirked at him. Even if Pansy was his best friend, she was still a Slytherin to the shining rotten core of her, and there was nothing she liked better than watching people squirm.

"Why Draco, whose name do you not wish for me to say?" she coyly replied. Next to her Draco gritted his teeth as he stabbed his spoon into the thickening oatmeal. "Pansy—"

"Draco really, you need to get past this little ailment! It's making you so pink!" Pansy continued, making sure to gasp dramatically to procure the glances from the other Slytherins, who were increasingly listening into the conversation now.

"You sick Draco?" Blaise asked, "I mean, you are pink in the face and—"

"Shut it Zambini," Draco snarled, "I'm fine. Pansy's just trying to get a rouse out of me, as usual."

"Me? Get a rouse out of you? Oh no dear, I should think that you'd rather have a certain man to do that for you. A _lion_ perhaps—Hey!"

Pansy could only screech as the half eaten bowl of oatmeal ran down her front, seeping through her uniform as an angry Draco Malfoy stood from the table with a screech from the bench to sneer down at her.

"Next time you'll learn to control that mouth, won't you Parkinson?" he snarled, giving her one last cold glare before turning the glare on the other Slytherins, who were wearing expressions torn between amusement and confusion.

"Parkinson's nothing but a sick bitch—don't listen to a thing she tells you!" he growled before turning and, with an elegant flair of his cape, stalking out of the Great Hall, leaving the gossip to fly.

It was the one time that he did not look at Potter, and so he did not see the concern flood those green eyes. He did not see the interest churn on that handsome face. And he certainly didn't see Potter stand and, without a word to anyone, follow him out of the Great Hall.

--

It was snowing as Draco stormed his way outside into the courtyard, swearing and cursing under his breath. He did not know that there was another ear listening in the entire time.

"Damn Parkinson, always having to torture me. It's bad enough that she knows about it in the first place, but now she's sure the exploit it. Maybe, if I'm lucky, everyone will think that it's all just a joke…"

Here Draco paused, his shoulders caving in as he raised his face to the white sky, to the icy flakes that fell in his eyes. He blinked them back as though he were blinking back tears. "All just a joke…"

"What's all just a joke?"

Draco could only close his eyes and hope for an avalanche to come crush him at the sound of that familiar voice which for too long now had haunted him. Of all people to see him like this, of all people to hear him in his time of weakness, it just had to Potter didn't it?

It was always, always Potter.

"Malfoy, what are you talking about?" that voice asked again, and Draco pulled his cloak closer around him as he shivered.

"That's none of your business, Potter," he forced himself to spit out, his words materializing like acid right in front of his face in the cold. "Just run back to your little Gryffindor henchmen and leave me alone."

Draco did not dare turn around and face him, even as he heard the snow start to crunch. Potter was getting closer.

"And why should I? You could be up to something."

Draco sneered even though Potter could not see him; he sneered even though Potter's words sent a lance of pain through his chest. Of course Potter thought he was up to something, of course. What other reason did the other boy ever have for following him?

"You'll be relieved to know that I merely came out here for some _quiet time_ Potter, and you seem to be spoiling it. Besides, what can I do out here in this god forsaken snow anyway? Build a Death-Eater snowman to spy on you for you-know-who?"

He thought he heard Potter give a snort of laughter behind him before he said simply. "I wouldn't put that past you Malfoy."

And Draco, undecided if that was a compliment like his heart wanted it to be or an insult, whirled around to glare into green eyes. Potter just smirked back.

"Whatever Potter. We all can't be as perfectly powerful as you," Draco snarled as he forced himself to look away from those emerald eyes and look towards the castle. "Now I'm going back inside before I freeze to death. I wouldn't mind, however, if you decided to stay out here."

As Draco moved to go around Potter the other boy stepped in front of him, his once smirking face serious now. "Hold on Malfoy, I still want to know why you came out here in the first place. You got in a fight with Parkinson—"

Draco's eyes widened without his consent. "How the bloody hell do you know that?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "Come on Malfoy, with the way you stormed out of the Great Hall in a hissy fit—not to mention you threw oatmeal on Parkinson—it was kinda obvious that you were pissed."

Draco hoped that Potter would mistake the pink on his cheeks as the result of the cold weather. "Yes, well," he cleared his throat, "Parkinson said some things out of line to me—"

"What sort of things?"

Draco just gave him a withering glare as he tried to push past him. "As I stated before Potter, that is none of your business—"

Potter's hand caught his arm, and even through the layers that separated his skin from Potter's flesh, Draco felt the heat of it. "P-Potter!—"

"I think that it does concern me actually, Malfoy." His voice was right next to Draco's ear all of a sudden, his hand clenching more firmly around Draco's sleeve. Draco was starting to feel as though he were in a daze. Surely this was all a dream…Surely Potter didn't know about…

"I think that it does concern me, and we both know why."

Draco started to shiver, and it had nothing to do with the cold, not at all. "W-What?" he managed to choke out, hating how the frigid air burned his throat and tore his words apart into shaky letters. "I-I have no idea what the hell you're talking about Potter. Unhand me!"

He looked up then, at Potter, even when he knew he shouldn't have. Even when he knew, somehow, in his gut that this would be the end for him. Those emerald eyes were ten times more lethal than any killing curse as they peered directly into his soul, unhinged and unstoppable as they bore into Draco, cutting him up inside with a thousand little knives, a thousand little feelings.

Something inside of him sprang to life then, with the ferocity of a lion that shook his frame and sent him swaying, reeling, right into Potter's waiting arms. As though Potter were waiting there to catch him, all along.

The heat was all around him now, eating at him like acid, yet he could not pull away. Not with those eyes, those wicked, haunting eyes so very close to his own, too close in fact, so that he could see every little detail—

It was in equal turns both fortunate and unfortunate that Draco's senses slammed back into him then, sending him falling away from the other boy in a ungraceful stumble. It was really an amazement that he didn't crash arse first on the ground with the way his mind was spinning. He couldn't even see Potter clearly anymore, but that was fine with him. He didn't want to have to see the smug look on the git's face at the sight of his blatant shock. Staring into the face of mockery, Draco did what any Slytherin at heart would truly do—turned around and hauled ass back to the castle, no longer feeling the sting of the cold in the burn of his own shame.

He had let Potter see…He had let Potter see something, he had allowed his guards to drop, his hope to flair—and now he was sure to pay for it. Potter didn't call out for him or follow him, so Draco surmised miserably, as he trenched towards the dungeons, that Potter was probably still out there laughing at him.

Draco could only hope that Potter really did freeze out there, and then this entire mess would never go public, as it no doubt would. Draco, in his panicked mind, could see rows and rows of newspapers reading the same line over and over again 'Draco Malfoy, Gay for Boy-Who-Lived.' He couldn't really even blame his father at this point if the man decided to disown him—he wanted to disown himself!

Stuck in full out pout mode, Draco entered the Slytherin dungeons expecting to go right to his room, lay down and sulk for the rest of the evening, considering that tomorrow—or perhaps even by now if Potter was as fast at talking as he was at catching the Snitch—his life would be over, officially.

But of course, nothing ever seemed to work out in the world of one Draco Malfoy, for as soon as he prepared to enter his dorm he was hit with a stinging curse from the left from a scowling dark –haired witch.

"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy fumed at him as she stomped over to where he was rubbing his newly stung side, glaring at her through icy, slightly red, eyes. She only glared right back. "What in all that is magical and dark is _wrong _with you?!"

If eyes were daggers, Pansy would have been speared into nothing by now. "What is _wrong_ with me?" Draco repeated evenly, tone belying the churning emotions of anger and pain surfacing inside of him. "Well, where the fuck do you want me to start? Hmm, let's see, I suppose I could start with my best friend, who thought it would be funny to harass me about things that aren't her bloody business!"

"Oh my Merlin, Draco! It was just a stupid joke, and I thought you could handle it! Apparently, you really are pathetic."

There was only so much that even a Malfoy could take.

With a growl Draco lunged at his best friend, trying to ignore her high pitched shrill as he slammed her back into the common room wall.

"Draco I had no idea you liked it so rough," Pansy tried to sneer to cover up her alarm, but it was lost in the face of Draco's anger. Pansy was starting to wonder if she should raise her wand again and hex him until he started to shake her, punctuating each word with a violent shake.

"I am not pathetic, bitch! There is absolutely nothing pathetic about me! So what if I have a crush on the hero of the fucking wizarding world? Those standards are a lot better than crushing on someone like you!"

Pansy astonishment at the outburst quickly melted into one of complete smugness. "So you're finally admitting that you like him Malfoy?"

Draco only scowled darkly at her, pressing his hands harshly into her upper arms where he held her until she flinched. "Who the fuck doesn't like him Pansy!? He's a bloody hero, the model Gryffindor, perfect at nearly everything he does! Who couldn't like that? Can you really blame me?! Is it really so pathetic that a Death Eater like me hopes to have a bloody chance with him? So…pathetic…"

By the end Draco's voice had lost its angry edged and slipped into a tone of blatant pain, and Pansy had lost her sneer. She might have been a Slytherin, but even Slytherins knew how to have a heart when it was desperately needed.

"Oh Draco…" she softly sighed, reaching out to him as he started to slip away from her, realizing that he had said too much, shown her too much. He stood stiff in her arms as she hugged him, his glassy eyes staring blankly at the wall behind her shoulder. He should have just left Pansy then, before even more close-hearted secrets slipped out, but with Pansy's arms around him he felt like he could not draw away. It felt so good, honestly, to be held by someone, to be cared for even if it was in pity. Besides, he had never forgotten that Pansy was his best friend, and although they didn't share everything like friends were supposed to, some things he knew he just needed her support for.

"You remember when I walked out on you in the Great Hall for being a bitch?" he quietly asked into the warm material of her cloak. He managed a small smile as she tensed in his arms.

"Yes, I quite remember," she sniffed, "It took me several cleaning spells to get that out you know, and I actually had to have Crabbe help me. Crabbe, of all people! I hope you were satisfied?"

"Well, you were being a right bitch. But anyway, it's what happened…after that which is really interesting. He followed me out Pans."

Pansy blinked for a second, confused, before her eyes widened and she pulled away to look him in the eye. "Potter? Why ever would he do that? Surely he hadn't heard me say--"

"I don't know if he heard!" Draco growled, "But then again, you all but shouted it you great cow! I really wouldn't have been surprised if he had heard it!"

Pansy, although she did take great offense to being called a cow, decided not to argue back and held her tongue. She could clearly see the desperation, the panic that still pervaded his voice and eyes, no matter how composed he still tried to be.

"What did he say to you then?" she asked instead, "did he mention hearing anything?"

For a moment Draco went still, his eyes flashing with an emotion she could not quite catch before his agitation returned, and he seemed more distraught then before. "No, but he did want to know why we were fighting. As if that's even any of his business."

"It's not, not at all. I'm sure you told him that."

Draco hesitated, looking away from her in a quick moment. "Well, yes, but of course he didn't listen. And he…he…"

Draco could say no more, even as Pansy gently grabbed his hands and implored him to look at her. He resolutely kept his eyes turned away, even as a faint flush began to steal across his cheeks. "What happened between you two?" the witch asked him as gently as she knew how. "And don't tell me nothing, because you're too distraught. What did Potter do to you?"

"He did something that ruins everything Pans," Draco growled, dropping her hands to drag his hands through his hair, messing it up in a way he never would have done if he were thinking clearly. "The son-of-a-bitch just had to go and ruin everything by—Merlin, I don't even know why—he…" Draco sighed, one long, restless breath that hovered between them as he slipped his eyes closed. "He kissed me Pansy, and it fucking messed me up. It messed me up bad."

Pansy didn't gasp in shock, as he expected. Instead she simply grabbed his hands again and squeezed, a silent comfort that he conceded to as he let out a great sigh, keeping his eyes still shut as he turned his hands over to hold hers.

"I'd hate to tell you Dray that I saw that coming but…I saw that coming. You might not have seen that coming, but I did. It's been building up, actually."

Here Draco did open his eyes in astonishment to gape at her. She just stared calmly, sympathetically, back. "W-What do you mean by 'building up'?" he stuttered, "Sure I've been crushing on the idiot but he couldn't possibly—"

"Oh Draco, Draco, Draco," Pansy tsked her tongue, "You really aren't as cunning as everyone says you are. You never fail to disregard the things in front of you, you know that?"

Draco could feel his irritation start to build again as he snatched his hands from hers. "What the hell do you mean Parkinson?" he growled, "Have you gone loony? If you're implying that Potter likes me as well—"

"Actually I am—"

"—then you're mistaken, as I'm sure he's in his little tower right now snickering with Weasel and Mudblood over how I fucking leaned into him, how I gave in and showed him my feelings!"

"Yes, and what did he do then?" Pansy asked calmly. Draco scowled at her.

"He—I don't know what the fuck he did, I—"

"You ran away didn't you?" Pansy sighed, rolling her eyes. "Why am I not surprised…"

"What the fuck Parkinson?" Draco snarled, "Some best friend you are! Aren't you supposed to be comforting me?"

Pansy just stared at him. "I'm a Slytherin, remember? No good Slytherin comforts, especially when they aren't good at that kind of shite like me. Besides dear, you really are a dumbass; why couldn't you have just stuck around and seen what Potter did?"

"Because I know damn well he would have laughed at me," Draco roared, "what else would he have done? Kissed me again? Held me in his arms and confessed his feelings to me? Get fucking real Parkinson. Potter hates me—he always has and he always will. There's nothing that can change that, not even one kiss."

Tired of the subject and Pansy's ridicule, Draco turned on his heel and marched into his room, slamming it loudly behind him to cut off Parkinson's shouts and casting a strong silencing and locking charm. Some future wife she would make.

Feeling utterly drained, Draco fell back on his bed to glare up at his canopy.

His vision was starting to cloud with the tears he had repressed for too long.

"Fucking Potter," he whispered, "always screwing with my head."

_And my heart…_

Draco had little doubt that Potter was somewhere in the castle, laughing at his expense. It was the only thing that made sense, no matter what Pansy tried to tell him; the very idea that Potter might return his feelings was just plain laughable.

But still, the thought of it also made Draco feel weak in the knees…

He would just have to pretend that it had never happened, even though his lips still burned from the warmth of Potter's. He would act his usual self and before long, things would surely go back to normal, and Draco would be right back on the schedule set for him. That schedule could never include Potter.

As Draco turned over to bury his face in his pillow and close his eyes, he was oblivious to the dark figure outside still, standing in the snow with green eyes fastened on the sky. A figure who, as Draco planned to avoid him, was beginning to plan the exact opposite.

--

Harry found that a week after that night, he had not gotten the chance to see Draco at all. But then, he hadn't really expected anything less, when he too found himself going out of his way to avoid the Slytherin.

Sure, he saw him in classes, but that didn't mean he actually looked at him; he passed him in the hallways, but that didn't mean he went anywhere near him. Although a part of Harry wanted to just talk to the Slytherin and get this entire mess sorted out, a un-Gryffindorish fear held him back. He didn't really want to know Draco's answer, because he already knew what it would be.

"_Nothing happened, Potter, sure you weren't dreaming?" _or _"It meant nothing Potter, get that through your thick skull. It was a mistake."_

All just a stupid mistake…

It was more than easy to imagine the blonde sneering down at him, imagine his callous words as he turned away from Harry, laughing at his expense. No, he didn't think he would be able to handle that; he'd rather live off the memory of that one impromptu kiss than have to deal with the consequences of reality. At least in the kiss there would always be the possibility of something more, so why should he destroy that with reality?

But Harry had forgotten, in the days that followed that kiss, in the nights of longing that had him twisting in his bed in aggravation. Fantasies could only get a person so far before they wanted more and before long, another week to be exact, Harry needed more and more.

Dreams weren't enough anymore; the instability of all the 'what-ifs' and fantasies were frustrating him. Everything began to trail off into questions and from those questions things began to grow inside of him like a monster getting restless in its cage. He was so frustrated but would it eventually become strong enough to conquer his fear?

He didn't know but he knew damn well that seeing the object of his desires every single day didn't really help much. It seemed that no matter where Harry went that agonizing week, Draco Malfoy always seemed to be there too. In the Library, in the Great Hall, in the hallways, in the classrooms; the only place that he found safe anymore was the Gryffindor Common Room, where he spent most of his days holed up in.

Although that only seemed to make things worse as alone in the Common Room, without Draco in sight, the fantasies took over no matter how hard he tried to repress them. Most were blatantly sexual which he could pass off as just hormones but others…

He shouldn't be imagining what it would be like if Draco studied with him, or what it would be like to cuddle together on the Common Room couch. He shouldn't be imagining what Draco looked like when he was asleep and curled up in Harry's arms, or what it would be like to kiss that cute pointed nose.

It was dangerous, these almost loving thoughts taking root in his brain, in his heart. He knew what Malfoy was; he could easily remember how much harm the blonde had done.

How could all that animosity, all the hateful actions, be destroyed by just one kiss?

Yes, Harry feared; it could. Hormones were a deadly thing and, combined with Malfoy's utter avoidance of him, Harry felt like he could burst out of his skin. He knew that sooner or later he would end up alone with Malfoy, if not by his own planning. He knew that sooner or later Malfoy would have to face him and when he did…

Harry would make sure he got to taste those lips again.

--

Either it was the possibility of true love or the idea that fate liked to laugh at his misery that landed Draco Malfoy into detention with Harry Potter that evening.

Or it was from the clever planning of an underestimated Gryffindor, but Draco wasn't quick ready to admit yet that Potter had Slytherin capabilities. Or that he was good at anything, at all. Especially kissing…

For perhaps the twelfth time since entering McGonagall's office a minute ago, Draco shot Potter a venomous glare. Potter was already sitting at one of the desks with a blank look on his face, and not once did he turn to look at or even acknowledge Draco. But still Draco was sure he saw a smirk pulling at the corners of those lips…

Those plump delicious pink lips…

Goddamn Potter! He had to be putting these thoughts into his head somehow, or at least knowing he was encouraging them!

Pompous, annoying, emerald eyes, hard bodied, Gryffindor idiot…

He had just barely glanced away from said idiot and taken a seat on the opposite side of the room when the old lioness McGonagall swept in. She gave Potter an almost gentle look before she turned her eyes on Draco and the blonde could clearly see that she had no such reserves for him which was just unfair; he hadn't been the one to start the fight, but Potter had—McGonagall had just conveniently entered her classroom to hear him cursing Potter out.

What he couldn't understand however, was why Potter was in detention with him in the first place. He could have easily avoided it but instead, to everyone's shock he had admitted to pestering Draco into threatening him, resulting in a one night detention for the both of them for two hours.

Ugh, two hours of being in the same room as Potter? Draco forced himself to feel only dread. Not that there was anything else to feel. Nothing at all.

Draco had started to bury himself so far in denial that he could no longer find his way out. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not at all.

And dammit why did Potter keep glancing over at him like that? It was entirely unnerving and ridiculous! As if Potter even had the right to look at him!

Especially like…like _that_!

It made Draco's stomach hurt and it certainly wasn't because it was filled with butterflies or anything like that! No, just the thought of Potter made him feel nauseous, that was all, simply disgusted.

McGonagall was saying something but Draco didn't have the mind to care. He already knew what the punishment would be as he was given a quill and parchment and, predictably, had to write the sentence 'I will not antagonize other students' one hundred and fifty times.

He didn't bother to look up at McGonagall as she took their wands and left the room, leaving him regrettably alone with Potter. Instead he just focused on what he had to do, though in his mind he was certainly adding more fun to the sentence.

'I will not antagonize other students…unless they're Potter.'

'I will not antagonize other students unless in self defense, which it was but the old crow didn't listen to me—predictably.'

'I will not antagonize other students unless they are Potter and instead of antagonizing I will snog—'

He almost dropped his quill at the abruptness of that last thought. No fucking way had he just thought that; he meant to think kill instead of snog—honestly, he did! Annoyed at himself and, of course, Potter for daring to enter his thoughts, Draco raised his head for just a moment to shoot a glare at the dark haired boy, who was too busy hunched over his own parchment to see it.

Draco fumed some more as he violently resumed writing his sentences again, briefly wondering if Potter would be angry if he threw his quill ink at him. Dump it over him and stain that skin of his. That soft, tanned, warm skin…

Draco felt like exploding. Ever since that certain night a week ago Potter had been creeping into his thoughts, stealing his mind as he slept and, now, while he was awake. It was all so pathetic; to be thinking of Potter like this after one stupid little kiss that _MEANT NOTHING_.

Although he was still amazed that Weasley hadn't approached him yet, laughing his ginger spotter arse off. Surely Potter had told him after all; or were they both bidding their time? Were they planning on making a huge mockery of him in front of the whole school?

The mere thought made Draco already want to transfer to a different school.

But if he denied that it meant nothing, meant nothing at all and Potter had initialized it and it had been an accident, just an accident, would everything be okay?

Somehow he highly doubted that.

--

As life in Draco Malfoy's world rapidly deteriorated into a semblance of hell, across the room and one desk down Harry Potter's world could not be more perfect.

His plan had worked like clockwork, as he knew it would; the chances of Malfoy letting an insult get by were like the chances of Hagrid actually shaving—slim to none.

And although Harry still feared that Draco would rebut him, he was a Gryffindor for a reason and here, alone with his crush in this dark classroom, he would get at least something resolved. …Right?

With the glares Harry could see Draco repeatedly shooting at him, he knew that it certainly wouldn't be easy. Nothing with Malfoy ever is.

At length through stolen glances Harry began to notice the blonde begin to flush, and at lengthier length he noticed Malfoy was beginning to fidget slightly in his seat. Interesting. Harry was on his 55th sentence when he pushed his paper away from him and stood up. Immediately those quicksilver eyes darted to him and stayed there, Harry staring back as that gloriously flushed color on that pointed face only started to grow.

He really couldn't believe it if he weren't staring right at the evidence. Was Malfoy…blushing at him? He moved closer, step by step and when he was close enough Malfoy was quick to scramble from his own seat and face Harry with blazing eyes. The effect would have certainly made Harry back down…if not for the pink that still stained those pale cheeks. In that pink hue Harry found just enough courage to make his next move, a move which would have surely ended with him hexed and in the hospital wing if they had their wands.

Quick as the lion his house idolized, Harry caught the other boy by the arms and pulled him forcefully closer to him until he had Malfoy—slender and warm and oh so delicious smelling—pressed completely into the circle of his arms. For about an entire minute, the blonde was completely still in his arms, rigid in shock. Harry wished he could say that he hadn't taken advantage of the blonde's stunned state…but he had. He was nuzzling his face into the sweet scented curve of Draco's neck when the boy in his arms came back into himself, and Harry was too distracted and, really, love struck, to notice him move until it was too late.

Stars danced before his eyes as a pale bony knee hit him in his…special place. His arms fell away from Malfoy as he bent over in pain, a rather embarrassing cry escaping his lips as he tried to find a way through the pain swamping his body. Vaguely he could hear the screeching of a Malfoy in a fury.

"—you fucking rapist! Oh Merlin if I had my fucking wand your bits would be faring much worse than just a little bruised! You wouldn't fucking have them at all you—you molester! You arse! UGH!"

"Malfoy," Harry eventually managed to rasp out. "I'm sorry I scared you like that—"

"Scared me?!" Malfoy repeated in a shrill voice as Harry straightened up, trying his best to look apologetic even though he really wasn't. He only ended up looking like he was in pain again. Although he really was; Malfoy's screams of outrage were by no means quiet and his eardrums seemed to be ringing.

It was a shame he loved that voice so much to cast a silencing charm…

And he didn't have his wand. Oh.

Malfoy was still ranting, and Harry tried his best to listen. He really did. It was just that Malfoy's face looked so adorable in that dark pink color, and his normally immaculate blonde tresses looked far too sexy disheveled. Harry spent Malfoy's entire rant resisting the urge to run his hands through that fine white hair and eventually the irate blonde began to take notice to Harry's dazed expression and decided to do something about it.

Again, like with the knee that had happily met his privates, Harry didn't know what hit him until Malfoy did just that—hit him. Right in the chin, snapping Harry's head back painfully and nearly making his glasses fall off as he stumbled back.

His expletives only made the sneer on Malfoy's face grow as he glowered Harry down, looking for all the world ready to kill as Harry straightened himself up, fixed his glasses, and absently rubbed his abused jaw. But Malfoy failed in his attempts to keep Potter away from him; the punch had been little more than a setback to the horny raven haired boy, and if anything the sneer Malfoy now wore only served to tempt him more.

If he weren't so fixated on the blonde, Harry would have started to wonder if he was becoming a masochist.

"Malfoy," he began as pleasantly as he could. Malfoy looked ready to punch him again. "Before you decide to attack me again—"

"Me attack _you_?!"

"—I just want to talk to you for a moment. And since there's nothing else to do—"

"That's entirely your fault too you wanker! I could be doing a thousand other things then dealing with your shit! Besides, there's nothing for us to talk about." Malfoy's tone certainly suggested that there wasn't, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason; he just looked at the blonde in blatant skepticism and rolled his eyes. If Malfoy was going to be a pansy and try to avoid it, then he'd cut right to the chase.

"So about that kiss…"

And immediately Malfoy was on the defensive. Harry watched in ill-disguised amusement as Malfoy's spine suddenly went ramrod straight, as his once angry face smoothed over into an expression of casual indifference. Too casual actually; and he really thought that Harry would believe this façade for even a moment?

"I have no idea to what you are referring Potter."

Harry just raised a brow at him. "Really?" he stated dryly. "You really don't?"

Malfoy's indifference cracked into a dark scowl and in those silver eyes for a moment Harry could see the barest trace of fear. "If you're referring to nothing then it was just that; nothing. No need to elaborate forward."

Harry dared another step closer. "But what if I want to?"

"Don't," the blonde snarled. The fear in his eyes was slowly going stronger and Harry frowned. He certainly didn't want Malfoy to be afraid….

"Just stop there Potter."

Another step forward and Malfoy was fumbling back a step, growing pale. "I-I'll hit you again!"

"No you won't," Harry quietly replied. Another step. Another. Harry could see the way Malfoy was slowly shaking, could see the film of sweat forming on his brow. "I won't let you."

"W-won't _let_ me?" Malfoy's voice shrieked, "You ignorant Gryffindor I'm going to hit you so hard that all your teeth will—Get the fuck away from me!"

When the fist did come flying at him, Harry saw it coming and swiftly caught it in his hand, ignoring Malfoy's gasp as he grabbed onto the pale thin wrist and held on to it, pulling the struggling blonde closer. Of course Malfoy by no means went quietly, the prick.

"Let go of me you oaf! You heathen!" the Slytherin hissed as he pulled harshly at the hand on his wrist, as he used his other fist to punch Potter repeatedly in the shoulder. Potter, with those goddamn Quidditch muscles Draco hated (loved) so much didn't even flinch. "Unhand me this instant!"

Harry's eyes only danced in amusement as his lips curled up in a fond smile. "Your only making it worse you know, sounding so cute like that."

Malfoy actually blanched. "Cute!?" he repeated incredulously. "Malfoy's are not cute you—you…" As he realized the impact of what Harry said Malfoy trailed off, overcome by shock. "W-Wait did you just call me…cute?"

Harry's grin could only be described as sly. Worthy of a Slytherin. Although Draco hated to admit it, he felt his legs tremble and weaken. Damn Potter wore Slytherin well… But that wasn't the point! The point was that Potter had dared call him cute and was staring at him with hungry, hungry expression. Shit.

"Well you're definitely more than cute to me," Harry purred, grabbing Malfoy's other wrist flawlessly as he tried to hit him again, his face colored a flattering pink that was growing darker every second.

"Glad you finally noticed Potter," Malfoy willed himself to choke out, to say something, anything to try to make sense of what was going on. "But I don't appreciate your feeble attempts to hit on me. Has a potion addled your already failing mind?"

Harry's expression abruptly shifted into one almost solemn, the already dark green eyes flashing with something indiscernible. "You've addled my mind, actually," he stated. "You've addled it so much that I can't stop thinking about you and only you and what happened that night. You know what I'm talking about."

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, jerked his hands frantically in the larger ones holding them captive. Potter's touch was like a brand on his skin, his proximity making it so hard to think, making Draco's head swim. "That meant nothing! Absolutely nothing!" he bit out. "It was a mistake, a lapse of judgment on my part. Now stop fucking taunting me about it!"

"Taunting you?" Harry repeated, almost incredulously. "Why would I do that?"

Malfoy grit his teeth, narrowed his eyes. "Don't play dumb with me Potter. Unhand me right now before I really hurt you. Merlin when I get my wand back…"

But Harry wasn't listening, tightening his grip on the blonde's frail wrist as he stared at him intently. "How am I playing dumb?"

Malfoy only tried to hit him again, and Harry barely avoided it. "I know that what happened meant nothing to you Potter, so don't even try to fucking lie and say that it did!"

"But Malfoy—"

"No!" the blonde all but shrieked suddenly. Blazing silver eyes smoldered into darkening green ones. "No! I understand that it was just a joke to you, something to tell your idiotic friends. I know perfectly well that it was just to mock me later, that it meant nothing to you when to me it meant—"

Harry, despite what Malfoy might say, was not a fool; he saw an opening when he saw one and, one look into that beautifully flushed face, one look at those glittering diamond, he knew exactly what to do. This time when their lips met it was by no means the light peck from before; it was fire, brimstone and everything in between. And even as they burned him, Harry knew that he never wanted it to end.

--

Draco wasn't sure what time it was exactly when he realized that Harry Potter was kissing him, but by then it was already half way to too late. By the time he had started to struggle away Potter's arms had tightened around him like bands, and he could only breathlessly stand there as Potter's lips fell down his neck to press searing lines against the pale skin.

Draco couldn't seem to catch his breath, even bring up the will to fight. Not with Harry Potter so close, pressed against his body…

"P-Potter," he heard himself rasp. "We shouldn't do this…"

"And why shouldn't we?" Potter growled back against his skin, flooding Draco with heat. "Why can't we?"

"I-it's wrong; it's not right; it's r-ridiculous—"

Potter pulled back slightly, to look at him with simmering eyes and Draco was alarmed at the disappointment that overtook him, the pain in his chest. Had Potter finally come to his senses…?

But then Potter was pulling him, impossibly closer, into his warmth, into the dark hole of lust and something so deep that Draco knew that he would never find his way out, ever again.

"I think I might just love ridiculous," Potter breathed before capturing his lips again, violently, passionately and over and over and over again until there was a blur between whose body was whose, until the kisses were an endless stream that was turning into a flood, a glorious, terrifying flood that pulled them under until they knew nothing but each other.

When the waves of their passion receded and they found themselves wrapped together and infinitely intertwined on the floor between the desks, Draco was speechless. What could he say when the object of his deepest, hidden desire had just taken him? He was ridiculously happy, lying in the circle of Potter's arms, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the sweet sticky warmth of all his skin against his own.

If Draco regretted anything that happened that night, it was that things would surely go back to normal as soon as they were out of the room. A part of him was disgusted that he had given into Potter and his own lust, but another part of him was just glad it had happened at all. He didn't want to play the role of Potter's whore, but with Potter's hand in his hair, his breath breathing little kisses across the nape of his neck…

"Draco," Potter whispered to him at length, as he felt the gradual tension of Draco's body as the blonde's thoughts began to run rampant through his mind. Draco didn't even hear him, still too busy weighing the pros and cons of being just a sex-toy to the Boy-who-lived. He only began to pay attention when the hand that had been trailing up and down his side pinched him sharply under the ribs.

"Ow!" he squeaked, turning his head to shoot a glare at the faintly smiling raven haired boy. "What the hell was that for?"

"You weren't paying attention when I called your name, so…I employed another way to get you to notice me. I am still here you know."

Draco blew out a long breath through his nose, looking away from Potter's penetrating eyes. "Yes, but for how much longer will you be here?"

Potter furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Draco sighed heavily, frustrated by the denseness of the Gryffindor. "I mean, Potter, that I know this is just a one-off thing, so why don't we make it easier on ourselves and just break it up now, alright? Besides, I don't want McGonagall to show up and see me starkers, so if you don't mind—"

But as soon as he dared try to get up and leave the warmth of Potter's side, strong arms were banded around him and pulling him back down. Startled, Draco looked back as Potter sat up, a perturbed expression darkening his face as he tightened his arms and pulled Draco even closer.

"But I don't want to break it up," Potter told him quietly, "I don't want to break it up at all. Ever, actually. I mean, do… you?"

Draco could almost feel something inside of him breaking loose. He had been so afraid to let himself completely go around Potter, for fear of getting hurt. But now, looking into those green eyes that held so much trepidation, so much awkward hope…

It seemed inconceivable that things would end up this way; the Death Eater and the Savior, but lying there together on that cold classroom floor, things could not have seemed more right. Draco did what his heart had been telling him to do for more than a week, possibly for years and leaned in, a smile at his lips, and pressed his cheek to Potter's.

"No Potter," he closed his eyes, his smile widening as strong arms held him. "Ever actually sounds like a pretty good plan to me."

They didn't know when it had happened, why or how, but Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter definitely knew at least one thing—they were irreversibly, happily, crushed by their hearts.

--

_I have a total crush on you, baby,  
and I can't let it go, oh no.  
I have a total crush on you, baby.  
Baby, if only I could let you know._

--

....SAP


End file.
